


The Least of Our Sins

by sarahgene12



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Catholic Guilt, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8105434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahgene12/pseuds/sarahgene12
Summary: Javert goes to his mayor's office expecting punishment. He finds something else entirely.





	

Javert stood at the foot of the stairs, clutching the little black rosary in one gloved hand. The purpose of his journey awaited him within the spacious offices of the mayor, but the Inspector could not will himself to move.  
It was not a pleasant task he’d come to fulfill, to say the least. He’d spoken out of turn, out of malice, and had committed an egregious crime. A crime for which he was determined to see himself severely punished.  
Head bowed, chest tight, Javert ascended the stairs, scarcely noticing there was very little light illuminating the room at the top.   
That meant nothing of consequence; it was midday and candlelight was not to be wasted. Perhaps the Mayor was out. Perhaps his punishment would be stayed for a while longer. He had prayed for a swift blow, and beseeched Monsieur Madeleine to still be in office.  
He paused midway to rub the ache out of one knee, and allowed his heart to slow to a rhythm a little closer to normal. A chilling sweat was wrung from his skin on the last step; he swiped one bearish hand across his forehead to dry it.  
But this was the last of it, wasn’t it? He was now at the door and yes, there was someone inside, for he could hear at least one voice speaking. It sounded like the Mayor’s.   
Only now did he notice the room’s dull orange glow, and, through the window, how the shutters on the far end of the room were closed.  
In the smallest moment of Javert’s hesitation, he heard Madeleine’s voice again, forming not words but a singular cry, as if the man were in pain. Alarmed, he twisted the knob and pushed his way into the room.  
In the nights following, when sleep escaped him, Javert’s mind would trap him in the memory of what he saw then, and his fingers would itch to relieve himself of the pressure the image caused in his lower belly.  
The good mayor’s head had fallen back over the top of his chair, his greying curls wild, his broad forehead slick with sweat. His eyes were squeezed shut, but his mouth hung open in an obscenely pink “O” shape. His breath escaped his throat in such aberrant, lewd little noises that Javert at once had to steady himself on the door frame, and he felt the rosary bite its pattern into the palm of his hand, through the leather.  
Madeleine’s legs were spread wide, his feet in their strong working boots were scraping tattoos into the desk, and his hands, those large, strong, labor-roughened hands--- Javert could hardly bear to look, to watch, to see what sins those hands were committing, but neither could he look away, ashamed as he was to feel his own arousal grow at the sight.   
The mayor was pleasuring himself, roughly, hardly bothering to keep himself quiet. And Javert was completely transfixed. He feared Madeleine would catch him watching, would see that he was obviously enjoying what he saw— for it was apparent now, even in the limited light; the inspector’s whole body ached with a desire he hadn’t felt since he was a young man, a palpable lust he almost hated the mayor for provoking in him.   
Madeleine’s hips were thrusting at the open air now, shining with sweat—he was very close, biting hard into his bottom lip to keep from crying out again—and it finally occurred to Javert what he was doing.   
Terribly flustered and sweating a bit himself under the heavy cloth of his uniform, he turned away, praying he could leave undiscovered.  
“AH! GOD in heaven!” The mayor’s cries followed the inspector down the stairs and out the door into the street, where he broke into a labored run, doing anything to distance himself from what he had seen.   
He was afraid of being discovered, of being caught in such a shameful state, and so he ran, ducking into the darkest and dreariest alleys like a dog.  
When he had scarcely recovered his breath, before he could allow himself the slightest thought to what he was doing, Javert stopped, slamming his back into a wall, in a corner so deep the moonlight couldn’t touch it. His fingers trembled so, the buckle to his belt sounded like a bell, a cacophony in his ears; he bent slightly at the knees and, gasping, pulled his cock from his trousers.   
He copied the movements he’d seen Madeleine make on himself, closing his eyes and keeping that picture in his mind, the sweat on the mayor’s skin, the sounds he made. He kept himself even quieter than the other man had, not knowing who lived on this street or who might hear.   
Thought the night was chilly, sweat poured down Javert’s face as he brought himself to the brink, and then over it, spending himself over the dirty cobblestone street.   
When he had finished, the inspector sank to his knees, knowing how greatly he had sinned before God and for the moment, thinking of nothing else but the man lying similarly exhausted across the city, in the mayor’s chair.


End file.
